


rendezvous (then i'm through with you)

by wildcard_47



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, One Night Stands, Sorry Not Sorry, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 11:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10639260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: One-shot. An early S3 AU for the tumblr prompt "Joan/Lane, one night stand."





	

As Joan stepped inside the crowded hotel bar and slipped through the crowd in order to grab a seat near the end, she still couldn’t shake the low boil of anger in her stomach. Even as everyone around her smiled and laughed over the din of the jukebox and the noise of glasses clinking against plates and silverware and bus bins, her entire body buzzed with furious impatience.

She couldn’t wait to get a drink.

She didn’t want to go home.

On nights when Greg was waiting for dinner, one drink was all she could allow herself. It was enough time to pretend she’d had some last-minute errand or misplaced paperwork. But on nights like tonight, when the hospital demanded he look like a Chief Resident in practice, if not in name….

Usually, she was happy just to go somewhere without Greg breathing down her neck the whole time, but tonight, Joan huffed in annoyance as she walked up to the edge of the bar. Although it was a crowded Tuesday, she could normally expect Tom or Jacques to have a large cocktail ready for her once they spotted her in the crowd. Tonight, for all the attention she was attracting, she might as well have been the greenest, ugliest girl at the party.

As a baby-faced, harried-looking bartender passed her for the second time on his way to refill the ice basin, Joan caught the eye of a strange man standing beside her. They shared a bemused look as he gestured toward her with his empty rocks glass.

“You don’t have one either.”

Perversely, Joan’s first thought as she studied this man was that he was the exact opposite of Greg. Where her husband was classically handsome like a Hollywood cowboy, tanned, with a smooth face, dark hair and round jaw, this man was ginger, freckled, and craggy—distinctive-looking. One eyebrow quirked up in a permanently surprised expression and he had an obvious gap between his teeth. Where Greg was still fairly athletic, this man was broad-built, and slightly paunchy, if the fit of his vest was anything to go by. And he was English, or something close to it, judging by the accent.

In that moment, Joan couldn’t explain why she was so drawn to him, why he seemed like such a safe choice, or why she was curious about his life; the only thing she knew was that she was going to sleep with him before the night was over.

And that was that.

“Here.” Her new friend flagged down the bartender, and raised his voice a little. “What’re you drinking?”

“Gin,” she said, and smiled.

An hour later, they were still flirting up a storm. She’d found out that he’d just moved to the city and that he also worked in advertising, but otherwise, they hadn’t exchanged many personal details. She couldn’t even remember his first name. So far, they’d made conversation by talking about everything but work: slyly taunting the people standing around them, discussing the best parts of the city, and arguing over their favorite movies and books.

She still couldn’t suppress a snort as her new friend accidentally knocked over his glass, and a little bit of whiskey splashed onto the side of her pale dress.

“This is jacquard, and it’s new. Someone needs to put you in jail.”

“Oh, what’re you going to do?” He lifted the glass to his lips, nearly mumbling around the rim. “Throw me in the stocks? Tie me to a bedpost?”

A shiver surged through her core; very slowly, without speaking, she teased a finger underneath the knot of the silk scarf still knotted around her neck.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

They locked eyes for a long moment; she tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, hard, and then nodded his head _yes._

Slowly, as if moving through molasses, she untied the scarf, slid it from her neck, and wrapped the tail around her hand, as gently as if wrapping up a tangled extension cord. Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell this little performance had affected her anxious friend, and watched with amusement as he fumbled with his wallet and placed cash on the bar between their two drinks.

“I’d love to see the rest of the décor,” was all she said.

He exhaled a breath, and stepped a little closer; Joan was sure if she reached down, right now, she’d feel the head of his cock twitch against her palm.

“Meet me at the lifts,” he whispered.

 

**

 

By the time Joan arrived at the elevators, the dynamic between them had already changed; under the fluorescent lights, she could see the fierce blush darkening her new friend’s cheeks and could feel the heavy, prickly sensation of his eyes roaming her body. Once they arrived at his room and he unlocked the door, Joan was tense with anticipation.

He was polite enough to offer her some refreshment as they walked into the living room portion of the suite.

“Something else to drink?”

“No.” She flashed him a smile as she beckoned him toward the bedroom. “I think I’d rather change into something more comfortable.”

Painted a royal blue, the French-inspired bedroom was handsome and neat, even considering the two large suitcases that stood at the foot of the open closet, where several suits and collared shirts hung stiff on wooden hangers. A pair of cufflinks from this morning lay on the top of the chestnut-colored bureau and one lone plaid slipper stuck out from under the left side of the bed.

Joan shed her trenchcoat and dropped it into the nearest armchair. Quickly, before tossing her purse on top of the pile, she dug two more silk scarves out of the main pocket, and rolled each one into a loose, gauzy rope before tying the three pieces together and testing the tensile strength. This would hold.

Nearby, he was taking off his glasses and tucking them into his suit jacket before he placed it over the back of the same chair. By the time he’d done that, removed his vest and tie, and stepped over to kiss her, he was already hard.

“Do you,” he was breathless as he pulled back, “have—rules about this sort of thing?”

“Hmph.” Joan was surprised he’d asked. “Only two.”

They were stumbling back towards the bed. He sat down on the edge, still holding her hand and teasing her fingers through both of his palms.

“All right.”

“One: don’t touch me unless I tell you.” Joan pulled her hand back, stepped to her right, and handed him two pillows, indicating he should prop them against the post at the foot of the bed so he’d have something to support his neck. After he’d arranged these, and shed his shirt, shoes, and trousers, she moved forward again and knotted one end of her long scarf around his right wrist, enjoying the smirk he gave her as she neatly tied the first knot.

He lay back against the pillows and stretched out as she guided his right arm above his head. Smoothly, she strung the rest of the scarf around the bedpost, and tugged on the other end of it to ensure the middle knots were secured.

“And two?”

He adjusted position, then nodded, once, to indicate he was ready to keep going. Wordlessly, Joan tied the end of the scarf around his left wrist; his eyes were wider than dinner plates as he watched her finish the second square knot.

She was grinning from ear to ear once she stepped backwards to admire her handiwork. As she peeled off her clothes, happiness bubbled through her veins. Here was a warm-blooded man who wanted her to handle him—need him—thrill him. Greg never wanted her to need anything except home ec classes.

But she wasn’t going to think about her husband tonight.

“What’s the second rule?” her lover asked again.

With a satisfied laugh, she climbed up onto the bed, got one leg over his hips, and shimmied slightly forward until she could feel his cock poking gently against one thigh, straining against his shorts.

God, she loved this part. The tease. The anticipation. She rocked her weight back on her heels, then leaned forward to kiss her lover’s earlobe, and relished the desperate noise this elicited.

“Don’t come before I do.”

His eyes slipped closed as Joan ground down on him in earnest.

“Oh—yes. I can hold back, I juh—juh—”

He squirmed against the restraints with a low moan; Joan watched with satisfaction as her scarf slipped from side to side on the mahogany, but never wavered. The knots held fast. The fabric stayed taut.

“If this hurts you, tell me,” she warned.

A grin spread across his face. “I’ll just say uncle.”

With that, she knelt down and kissed him again. They made out for several minutes until he was moaning against her mouth; when she was sure he was distracted, Joan widened her knees for a second so he could slip between her legs, get a little more friction. Her lover shivered as she ground down against him, trailing slickness in her wake, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he spoke.

“Let me—God, you’d taste so lovely—”

“I’m not untying you,” Joan reminded him.

His eyes snapped to hers, but he shook his head no. “Then sit on my face. Or turn around, and I can—I just want to.”

Joan’s entire body prickled with heat as she thought about it. She could count on two hands the number of men who’d willingly offered to do this for her. Narrow it down to one hand if you counted the ones who’d offered with no ulterior motives in mind.

Carefully, she walked up the bed using only her knees, by the time she was positioned just below his jaw, he seemed like he was desperate to touch her. His hips kept arching against the mattress and his neck strained against the pillows as he angled his head up and closed his eyes, his mouth already slightly open.

Joan balanced her weight on her knees as she moved into position. Without hesitating, he went for the prize; licked and sucked and kissed and teased until her legs shook from the effort of holding herself upright.

“Jesus!”

Her thighs squeezed against his cheeks, and he moaned against her so loudly Joan swore and wrapped her hands around the bedpost. Although the angle must have been awful for his neck, his mouth was so eager and hot, and after several more minutes, without warning, Joan felt the earth move under her. Her thighs got slicker as she pitched forward against the bedpost with a screech.

“Oh, my god!”

He moaned again; his hips thrashed wildly and his arms spasmed in vain against her scarf. The post shuddered in place as he worked her through it, but he didn’t let up until she was weak-kneed and breathless, still gasping for air as she clumsily scooted backwards and straddled his upper chest.

“That was—so good,” was all she could tell him, relishing the way he ground against her hips when she draped her body over his, and quickly leaned down to capture his mouth with her own. “You did so good.”

Deftly, she reached between their bodies and began to stroke his cock through his damp shorts. He hissed in pleasure as she touched him.

“Mmph. Filthy girl.”

Joan flushed hot all over.

“Come on, naughty boy.” A sharp gasp of excitement escaped her as she yanked his shorts down his legs; once she got them to his knees, he was able to kick them off with one shaking leg. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“I will do. Will do. Just—”

His eyes rolled back in his head as she fumbled to get him inside her. Once she sat flush against his stomach, they stayed still for just a second before he let out a pained whine and thrust up. His voice was thready.

“Dirty—little minx, your cunt’s so soft—”

A new urgency thrilled through Joan’s body. “Oh, god, fuck me.”

“’M fucking you,” he grunted, and sped up his movements. His arms trembled against the silk knots. “Fucking you, filthy thing, going to make you—”

“Don’t stop. I—I—”

“Oh, you need my—“

He stopped talking, his eyes crossed, and his jaw worked for a second as her innermost muscles suddenly squeezed him tight. Joan felt his abdomen spasm against her inner thighs, and after that, all he could do was whine and grunt and hiss _fuck_ under his breath, over and over.

“Not before me!” she yelped, as a particularly deep tremor ran through his entire body.

He jerked uselessly against his restraints as he tried to lean forward, but somehow Joan knew what he wanted to do, even when he could barely get out the words. She could see the way he kept staring at her chest, practically hypnotized.

“Mmph. C’mere.”

Joan leaned down and let him bite at her breasts and between them, shuddering at the sharp, sweet heat of his mouth and fisting his hair in both hands as he worked. He was panting against her damp skin, now, open-mouthed, and together, their hips rolled fast and frantic; her vision narrowed down to a tunnel as his teeth scraped roughly against her nipple.

When he did it again, her entire body seized up. She yanked at his hair and surrendered to the fall as he laved a litany of obscene words into her skin.

Within a minute, he’d followed her over the edge, and almost immediately afterward, she was pawing at one of his wrists, loosening the strained knot so he could move his arms again.

“You can touch me,” she gasped as the silk gave way. “Please.”

Immediately, he pulled her to him. One hand tangled in her hair as he initiated a deep, dirty kiss, while the other snaked between their joined bodies to tease her a little—oh, god, god, she was oversensitive but the knife-edge of pleasure was so good and if he kept doing that she was going to—she was going to—

It took no time at all.

This time, he palmed her back with both hands before he pulled out, completely spent. For a few minutes they just lay there, pleasantly sated, catching their breath. His fingers kept trailing up and down her spine. Eventually, Joan propped herself up using one hand, flashing him an apologetic look as their gazes met and she finally broke the silence.

“I have to go home.”

His face fell. “No.”

“Yes.” She patted his cheek, and was surprised by the lurch in her stomach when he closed his eyes and leaned into the caress. “Unfortunately, tomorrow’s paperwork won’t finish itself.”

“Hmph.” Opening his eyes, he gave her a rueful smile, like he knew this was a baldfaced lie, but didn’t call her on it. His eyes drooped at the corners as he relaxed against the pillows, absently rubbing the red mark on his left wrist with one hand. “Well. You could stay if you wanted.”

“I know.” She let out a relieved breath as she averted her eyes. “Thank you.”

It took Joan a minute or so to locate her underwear and slip, scattered among the rest of the clothes on the floor. By the time she was half-dressed and turned back to her lover with a dangerous thought bubbling on the tip of her tongue— _what if we did this again_ —he was already asleep.

She studied him in profile for a moment, raking her eyes over his flushed face, his broad chest, and the messy sheets, and treasuring the serene feeling that this debauched image conjured up in her mind. No matter what happened next, no matter how small her husband or her coworkers might make her feel, she still had power over something—over someone she’d never even see again.

The next morning, after she’d put away her coat and purse in the locker room, she almost bumped into Roger on her way out of the kitchen, as she was carrying a fresh cup of coffee to her next meeting.

“Good morning, Mr. Sterling.”

“Mrs. Harris.” Roger glanced at her mug, and then shot a conspiratorial look toward the conference room, where St. John and some of the other Brits were filing out. “You’ll need that. Eight seconds with those poor saps’d put you to sleep.”

She gave the joke a perfuntory smile before she walked away.

As she got closer to the group of strangers, and put on her best face, she glanced right for less than a second only to glimpse the man from the bar staring at her, wide-eyed, clearly horrified.

But she didn’t have time to say a word; St. John was already in front of her.

“Mrs. Harris. How on earth did you know I prefer a mid-morning coffee?”

“Well.” Joan presented him with the handle as smoothly if his caffeine intake was the first thing on her mind today; she even managed to seem grateful as he took the steaming cup from her hands. “Call it an intuition. Your next meeting is in five minutes, regarding payroll.”

“Mmph.” St. John seemed relieved as he took a deep sip. “Well, I’m afraid that will only be with Lane, our numbers man.”

“Oh.”

Joan turned to follow St. John’s outstretched hand; her eyes landed squarely on her former lover. Although the man’s hair and complexion were as ruddy as she remembered, and his glasses still lent him an owlish air, this morning, he held himself so stiffly he seemed like a different person altogether. Not at all the way Joan remembered him appearing in the hotel room.

St. John's voice had gained a condescending edge. "Try not to bore the lady, hm?"

“Of course.” Lane’s smile was forced. “Mrs.—Harris, was it?”

“Yes. Hello.” Joan held out her hand to him as if in a daze. Her own voice rang hollow in her ears. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from one of my fave '90s songs, "Inside Out."


End file.
